


Folded Up All Pretty (Fit Into You)

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, Domesticity, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Missed me?” Harry laughs into his mouth, and it ought to be awkward with the way Louis’ tongue pushes at his teeth and the stretched out corners of his mouth, but really, it isn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folded Up All Pretty (Fit Into You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Turtles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtles/gifts).



> Because of [this thing Louis did](http://24.media.tumblr.com/c680e274ea05fb43f1f15ae493355941/tumblr_mk8s1j2tjA1qg9q0qo1_250.gif) and how we couldn't stop talking/thinking about it. This is for Carla and everyone else who was talking about Louis getting fucked on our Twitter tl, which... Honestly could've been anyone we follow. (Two-part title because I suffer from chronic indecision and S isn't around to weigh in as I post this. -p)

Harry supposes he should’ve expected it, what with all the winky faces Louis has been using in his texts today, but planes mess with his ability to think straight. It’s probably for the better, anyway, that he didn’t figure it out sooner and saved himself an awkward hard-on and a cramped wank in the loo.

It’s just that he gets in late in the afternoon, makes it through security and the paps and hauling his bags around, and when he gets home, Louis all but tackles him, makes him drop his bags barely in the door and pins him to the wall, licks into his mouth with a sort of silly, childish excitement that Louis only seems to let out around Harry.

“Missed me?” Harry laughs into his mouth, and it ought to be awkward with the way Louis’ tongue pushes at his teeth and the stretched out corners of his mouth, but really, it isn’t.

Louis huffs, slipping his hands under Harry’s jumper. “You’re not excited enough,” he scolds, nips at Harry’s lip before leaning back and looking down at himself. He’s wearing one of Harry’s tees, a worn-down white crewneck with a blur of shadows beneath the collar- Louis’ new tattoo.

“Hey, I’m plenty excited,” Harry frowns, shrugging out of his jacket and stepping closer to Louis. Lou’s clever, though, and he just walks backwards, entirely too familiar with the arrangement and furniture of Harry’s massive house. “The picture looked sick.”

“El said they’re hot,” Louis grins, spreading his hands behind him on the dining room table, leaning back easily. His collarbones pop out like this, and he knows it, tips his chin to indicate the newest ink that’s a dark swathe below them.

Harry nods. “Clearly has good taste,” he grins, fitting his hands over Louis’ hipbones, his fingertips pressing into Louis’ lower back. He curls his fingers into Louis’- his- shirt and hums. “Let’s have you, then.”

“Wouldn’t you like to,” Louis scoffs, but reaches for his collar, lets Harry twine their fingers together to pull it down and... _stare_.

The tattoo has healed enough that it’s not sore and barely has a few teeny scabs, but the lines of it are still stark black against Louis’ golden skin, etched into his chest and just grazing his collarbones. Harry stands there, arms fallen back to his sides, and licks his lips.

“‘Wow, Louis, I love it, that’s amazing, did it hurt much? Now we match, I quite like your new tattoo,’” Louis babbles. His hands twitch a little in mid-air and he tugs at his shirt absently, self-consciously, before reaching back to grip the edge of the table. “Earth to Styles.”

Harry’s voice comes out a little croaky. “It’s _very_ nice, Lou,” he manages, mindlessly fidgeting with the edge of his jumper. He feels a little bit like it’s suffocating him. “Could you- Lou, turn around?”

“It’s on my _chest_ , not my back, Harry,” Louis huffs, and when he turns to face the table, Harry all but shoves him down against the surface of it, almost smacking Louis’ chin against it. “ _Okay_ ,” Louis grunts, but Harry leans over him and mumbles into Louis’ ear, “Get your trackies off and stay right here.”

Louis rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother arguing the point. He leans further into the table, letting his cheek press flat against the tablecloth and reaching back to shove the elastic of his sweats off his hips and down his thighs. He has to go up on his tiptoes to shimmy the trackies down any further, and they still catch at his knees, but he pushes them down with one foot and steps out of them. His hipbones grind against the table edge and his first instinct is to adjust his cock, half hard and pressed awkwardly between his stomach and the table, but he stops when he hears Harry’s steps coming back into the room, the uneven click of his heeled boots.

Harry’s gotten rid of his jumper and undershirt by now, forgotten on the back of the sofa, and he sets down a bottle of lube next to Louis on the table. He steps in close enough that his jean-clad thighs brush Louis’ bum, leaning over Louis again, and Louis knows he’s enjoying this way too much. “You look really, really good,” he says, running his fingertips up and down Louis’ side, and Louis can’t help a happy shiver.

“It’s been less than a week,” Louis points out, and it earns him a jab to the ribs, loses him the warmth of Harry’s chest close to his back as he stands back up. He can hear the telltale sound of Harry popping the cap on the lube and considers telling him, but it’s much more fun if he finds out himself, isn’t it?

“What’s less than a week feel like?” Harry asks, pressing a slick fingertip to Louis’ rim- a little too hard, perhaps, as it just slides smoothly two-thirds of the way in. “Oh.”

“Thought I’d give us a bit of a preemptive hand,” Louis explains, nonchalant (if not a little breathy, relieved to have Harry exactly where he’s been wanting him). He can’t help looking over his shoulder, though, with a mischievous little grin and a quirked eyebrow.

Harry slides his finger in to the knuckle and hums his approval. “Good call,” he nods, and Louis plunks his forehead against the table as he adds a second finger, stretching them out and gliding easily with the lube Louis used earlier and Harry’s own generous coating.

“Harold,” Louis says, tightly, “I was quite thorough. I’d really appreciate it if you got on with it.” He shifts impatiently as Harry, obliging, draws his fingers back- not quite removing them, but twisting them just inside him, lazy turns of his wrist. Louis can see Harry out of his peripheral vision when he turns his head slightly, and he’s completely still, one hand on the edge of the table as he watches his fingertips sink deeper in Louis’ arse. “Really,” he adds, and Harry’s going to have him whining for it so easily it stings a bit. Louis shifts his weight from foot to foot, arches his back to shove his arse out like he knows Harry can’t resist.

“Aw, you missed me,” Harry grins, angling his fingers into Louis’ prostate before pulling them out completely, leaving Louis a bit winded.

“Just a bit,” Louis hums, pushing himself up on his toes and stretching his arms out on the table in front of him. Harry presses the heel of his hand against Louis’ lower back where it dimples just above his arse, holding him down against the surface, cock pressed tightly between his stomach and the table, and Louis’ breath catches again. “Please, c’ _mon_.”

Harry slowly spreads his fingers, grip wide and pressure firm at the small of Louis’ back, before he fists his hand, scrunching the material of his own t-shirt and yanking Louis backwards a little. It makes him totter on his toes before he sinks flat on his feet, reaching behind himself wildly for Harry. “Right here,” Harry murmurs, “Just wanna- right here, stay.” He presses his fist, closed around a handful of shirt, against Louis’ spine gently, and lets him go, settles his hands on either side of Lou’s hips instead, and sinks to his knees easily.

“Jesus,” Louis hisses, at the first touch of Harry’s cool nose to the back of his thigh. Harry giggles, and Louis squirms, trying to nudge at Harry with his opposite knee. It does nothing to dissuade him, though- Harry is breathtakingly methodical in gifting a continual string of kisses from the backs of Louis’ knees (he has to crouch to reach) up to the round of each arsecheek. 

“Missed you,” he says, when he’s worked his way to the dip of Louis’ spine, the words punctuated by kisses that say just as much, damp against his tailbone and making Louis wriggle.

Louis, infinitely fond, makes a content sound and gives the tablecloth a nuzzle. It’s not the most comfortable ever, but it’ll have to do. “Missed you, Hazza love,” he mutters, pushing his bum out a little, arching his back into it. “It’d be wicked if you’d fuck me, care to get on with that?”

“So casual about it,” Harry says, and Louis doesn’t even have to look, knows the exact furrowed-browed, mischievous look on his face just by his tone. After leaving one last kiss at the swell of Louis’ right cheek, he stands.

“Lonely and desperate, mate,” Louis sighs, and spreads his hands on the table by his head, fingertips just digging into the material of the tablecloth. “While you were off bat mitzvahing or whatever, I was... shalomly.”

Harry snorts helplessly, barks out a short laugh and still smacks Louis’ bum gently. “You’re awful, Lou, it was _passover_ and you know it.”

Louis arches his back further and lets out a heavy sigh. “I _know_ , but. C’mon, Harry.”

“And then you have the gall to say _my_ jokes are shit,” Harry mutters, incredulous, but Louis can hear the sound of him unzipping his jeans and just wriggles happily. “It was a lot of fun, anyway; you should come with someday. Ben’s mum is a riot,” he grins, pushing both his jeans and pants down and kicking off his shoes.

“Can we not talk about Ben and his family when I have my arse up in the air like this?” Louis huffs. Harry seems to stumble a bit- presumably trying to get his socks off at the same time as his jeans- but Louis doesn’t even turn back, rolling his eyes fondly.

The next time Harry presses up against him, Louis gets that jolt of bare skin on skin, warmth on warmth. “We can talk about anything you like,” he drawls, low and mellow, his cock fitting into the cleft of Louis’ arse.

“How you missed me,” Louis says, faintly, licking his lips and shifting his head on the table restlessly. “Missed my arse. How you’re gonna fuck me so I’ll walk funny tomorrow and the lads’ll make fun and we won’t give a shit.”

Harry grunts his agreement, grabbing for the lube again and squeezing out a dime before wrapping his hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly, spreading the slick. “Gorgeous like this, Lou,” he says, tightening his hand around base of his cock and pulling his hips back to line himself up with Louis’ rim. He doesn’t need to be told to go on, trusts his own ability to read Louis’ body language and knows Louis will stop him if need be. He nudges Louis’ knees farther apart with his own and then pushes the head of his cock in slowly, chewing on his lower lip and huffing through his nose at the tight warmth.

“Yes,” Louis hisses, teeth gritted as he tries to hold himself still with the limited leverage his position allows. “Go on, Haz, all th’way, told you, missed you, made sure I could take you, please, please.”

“Ah, fuck,” Harry gasps, canting his hips forward, stepping closer. By the time he’s halfway in he can take his hand away and grip Louis’ hip instead, knead at his hip over his t-shirt soothingly as Louis takes all of him, stretched out and pretty. “Gorgeous, Lou, you’re- ah,” he rushes out, moaning as he bottoms out, hips fitted against Louis’ arse.

Louis is shifting slightly, hips moving thoughtlessly to get friction on his cock as he adjusts to Harry filling him up. It’s always a surprise, how _thoroughly_ they fit together like this, how Louis can barely concentrate on anything but the heat and the hard press of Harry inside him. Barely, but he’s still achingly aware of the neglect of his own prick, pressed between his stomach and the tabletop, the tablecloth rough and not enough against his sensitive skin, prickly against how warm his stomach feels where his shirt’s rucked up.

“Alright, there?” Harry chokes out- he doesn’t want to move before Louis is ready, more than aware of his size, but it’s not exactly easy with Louis rutting and wriggling, shifting Harry’s cock so the sensitive head drags inside Louis. “Just- just lemme know, when.”

Louis whines, turning his face so he can glance back at Harry. He feels shivery all over, between the warmth of Harry at his back and all their skin pressed together, knees to thighs to arse to balls, and the rasp of the tablecloth and the non-give of the table biting into his hips and. “Good,” he says, when he can, “good, please.”

Harry’s pulling halfway out and thrusting back in hard almost immediately, pushing hard enough into Louis to shift him up on the table, making him gasp and whine. He’s impossibly tight despite the prep, his fingers and Harry’s own, and Harry can tell already that Louis will feel it in the morning, just how he likes. “So good,” he agrees, belatedly, slipping a hand beneath Louis’ t-shirt to spread on his overheated skin.

Louis lets himself sink into it, lowering himself from his tippy toes so that Harry can move him as he likes, even bounce him a little as he builds up a rhythm. The slap of skin echoes around the high-ceiling of the dining room, and Louis can’t help but add his own noise to the symphony of it, staccato exhales and nonsense syllables as Harry takes his hips in both strong hands and pulls him back onto his cock, shoves him forward into the table by turn. 

"Looking pretty, Lou," Harry says, gruff and deep, trailing a hand up Louis’ spine and pulling his shirt halfway up with it before stopping at the back of Louis’ neck. His palm fits easily across Louis’ nape, his fingers and thumb pressing into Louis’ skin, and- he can’t tear his eyes away from the deep curve of Louis' back, the way even with his feet flat on the ground, Louis is pushing his arse out for Harry, trying both to lift his hips into every thrust and grind his cock down desperately. Louis’ skin has gone shiny with sweat, already, and Harry challenges himself to fuck Louis hard enough that droplets of it will pool in the pretty dip of Louis’ spine.

Louis whines in response, reaches behind himself to grip the edge of the table in both hands. Without the support, his weight settles heavier on his chest and shoulders, pressed into the table, and it takes a more conscious effort to breathe steadily, remembering the sting of the tattoo gun on his skin where the tablecloth presses against his tattoo. He can feel heat flushing his throat and down his shoulders, can feel the sweat beading in his hairline already. Behind him, Harry bottoms out for the first time since he started and grunts, choked off. Louis closes his eyes as he feels Harry palm his arse, dig his thumbs into the curve of his arsecheeks and spread them so he can grind in further; so he can watch himself do so. “Feels aces,” he says, roughly.

Harry nudges one of Louis’ feet with his own to widen his stance. Although having to bend his knees a little makes his thighs burn, he likes having to arch over Louis a little, too, hands on the table for leverage. “Really, really missed you,” he mutters, fucking into Louis harder but not faster, pushing him up the table enough that it makes his cock rub against the tablecloth.

Louis whines, tight in the back of his throat. The friction burns, makes him feel even more overheated, overwhelmed. He can feel every drag of his foreskin, caught on the cloth, and the scrape of the not-particularly soothing weave against the head of his cock. Harry’s not being gentle, either, but Louis doesn’t want to tell him to stop, focusing instead on the heat that Harry’s even thrusts are churning up in his gut. 

“Your- the tat looks amazin’, Lou, ‘m really glad you got it,” Harry babbles above him, leans back a little for balance, and spreads a hand on Louis’ back again, between his shoulderblades. He pushes the knuckles of his other hand against Louis’ hip, bottoms out and rocks against Louis’ arse, breathing ragged.

Louis can’t keep from whimpering, tries to bite his noises back to something like agreement. Harry’s not as close, now, with the angle, but he’s extra-aware of the places they’re still touching, thighs and the way Harry’s hips dig into his arse as he grinds forward incrementally, the heat and pressure of his big hand. “Fuck,” Louis spits, “Harry-”

Groaning, Harry gives up on grinding and pulls his hips back, slams back into Louis with a shudder. His hand on Louis’ back holds Louis’ chest down and Louis responds by pushing his arse out- he feels so fucking full, and his hipbones are starting to hurt a little, rubbed raw. He wonders, idly, if maybe he’s rubbed holes through the tablecloth beneath his hipbones, trying to distract himself from the discomfort at the underside of his cock.

It doesn’t quite work- even though Harry feels amazing inside him, his cock’s just on the wrong side of neglected and overheated, and he cries out when it drags against the fabric. “Haz, shit, wait-”

Harry stops mid-thrust and his hands shake, stroking gently over Louis’ skin. “Wazzit? You okay?” he asks, voice strained.

“Fuckin’, your fancy tablecloth,” Louis hisses, trying to squirm his hand between his stomach and the table, fingers cupping his prick. “Not gonna be anything left f’you to suck if you don’t do something.”

“Should’ve let me know sooner,” Harry says- not scolding, exactly, but worried. He wedges both hands beneath Louis’ chest and hauls him up off the table, holds him close. It’s not easy to keep his cock inside like this, but he steps back a little, bringing Louis with him, and drops a kiss on Louis’ shoulder before lowering him again so his hips are off the table. His prick has flagged a little, but Harry grabs the lube and squirts some in his palm, wraps his hand carefully around Louis’ cock, stroking him gently. “Sorry, Lou.”

Louis lets his head drop against the table, cheek smushed. He can’t bring himself to care. Harry’s hand is slick and the lube is cool, and for once it feels good, soothing when his dick feels a little raw. He hums approvingly, and moves his hips back against Harry’s encouragingly. “M’okay, Haz. ‘s good.” 

“Okay,” Harry nods, and settles into an even rhythm, stroking over Louis’ cock in time with his thrusts. Louis is responsive and it makes Harry smile- the way his breath hitches when Harry swipes his fingers over the head as he pulls back, clenches around him as Harry bottoms out. It’s so easy to work together, with each other, bringing each other closer and closer. “So pretty, Lou, so- fuck.”

Squinching his eyes shut, Louis bangs his forehead against the table top. It’s just so _good_ , and Harry’s hand around his cock is the best blend of firm and mindful of the lingering sensitivity. Louis groans and twists his arm around behind his back, fingers squirming for Harry’s. 

Harry grabs his hand right away- he has to twist his fingers up a bit awkwardly because of the angle, and if he tried to bend over Louis he’d catch an elbow to the ribs, but once he presses their tangled up hands to Louis’ spine at the small of his back, his shoulderblade pushed out beneath his t-shirt, it _works_. It’s easier to hold Louis down like this, too, and Harry uses his hand for leverage, picking up to fuck into Louis faster. “C’mon,” he mutters, tightening his other hand around the head of Louis’ cock.

“You c’mon,” Louis grits out, “been waiting for you all day, haven’t I?” He moves his arse in a slow figure-eight, squeezing Harry’s fingers. He’s close, but he’s been close all day it seems like; been close since waking up this morning with his nose in Harry’s pillow, been close since Harry’s cheerful grinning selfie from the airport bathroom at lunch, been close since prepping himself in the shower. 

Huffing a strained laugh, Harry grinds hard into Louis’ bum and twists his hand around his cock. “Been waiting, too,” he counters, pulling out slowly, almost all the way, before bending his knees slightly to slide back in at an angle, going for Louis’ prostate. “So pretty, missed you like this.”

“Missed you,” Louis echoes faintly, his other hand hitting the table in a fist. “Shit, d- can you do that- _shit_ , Haz, yeah.”

“Like this?” Harry asks, fucking into Louis with the same little jerk, putting his knees into it. “Good?”

Louis shudders, feels it running up his spine, feels his pulse pounding between their tightly locked hands. Everything feels good, now, the slight strain of his twisted shoulder and his hips hitting the table’s edge. “Yes,” he hisses, belated, “Yeah- s’that- do it for you?”

Harry nods before remembering Louis can’t really see him except perhaps out the corner of his eye. “Yeah, ‘s good,” he grunts, even though he knows he’ll feel the ache of it in his thighs and knees tomorrow. He can deal with it, he decides, thumbing over the slit of Louis’ cock.

Louis arches into it, going up onto his tiptoes again so Harry doesn’t have to bend as far for the same angle- he likes when it’s like this, the two of them working together to make it good. “Really fucking good,” he says. He can feel every drag and throb of Harry’s prick inside him, and every time his hips punch forward he nudges Louis’ prostate. “Harry,” he breathes, “Harry, c’mon.”

Pulling his lip between his teeth and adjusting his grip on Louis’ hand, Harry speeds up- Louis is so hot and tight around him and breathtaking beneath him, and he’s so close, arousal coiled up inside him. It’s hard to keep fucking Louis at the same angle but he does his best, even as his hips jerk and he loses his rhythm. When he finally comes, he grips Louis’ hand bruisingly hard, shoving him down into the table and folding over him, pressed flush into him and grinding through his orgasm.

Everything narrows to Louis’ consciousness of Harry's prick fattening impossibly further inside him, the hot blurt as he shoves deep to come. There is, too, the sharp sensation of Harry’s teeth set into the meat of his shoulder as he leans in close, pressing all along Louis’ back.

All Louis can think is how when he got the chest piece he kept asking Eleanor if she liked it and what she thought Harry would think of it; and Harry _loved_ it and it's such a relief and he loves his tattoo and loves Harry and Harry loves his body- it’s too much, and Harry’s hand isn’t even on his prick anymore- it’s wrapped tight around his hip. Louis doesn’t even remember him moving it, and he’ll remind Harry of it later, (“Let you out of my sight for a couple days and you get back selfish as a kid again, have I taught you nothing?”), but for now it doesn’t matter. Louis comes, anyway, untouched, bearing down on Harry’s cock as it pulses a weak final time. 

Harry sucks at Louis’ shoulder and stays inside him as he comes, can’t pry his hand away from Louis’ hip to jerk him through it, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind. It feels like they might stick together, sweaty and happy even with their arms stuck in between them and Harry feeling a bit like he might’ve pulled a muscle in his bum and Louis almost entirely sure that he has weird lines imprinted on his cheek from pushing it against the tablecloth. It’s the best feeling in the world, really.

“If you don’t pull out,” Louis mutters, “it’s gonna be really hard to explain to the lads why we won’t be able to join them for the world tour.”

“But I’m _comfy_ ,” Harry sighs, although it’s not really true. Still, he carefully lifts off of Louis and wraps a hand around the base of his cock, pulls himself out carefully. He doesn’t think twice before using the same hand to help Louis up, hands on his shoulders to steady him. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, turning carefully and leaning in against Harry’s sweaty chest. “Glad you’re home. Not so stoked about the spunk dripping onto the carpet right now.”

Harry looks over Louis’ shoulder at- yes, that’s definitely come on his carpet. “Sweet,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair and pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead. “Um, I’ve gotta- I should probably clean that, d’you mind if I go get like, a paper towel?”

Louis raises an eyebrow up at him. “Are you serious, Haz?”

“But _stains_ ,” Harry insists. He’s really rather fond of his fancy carpet, and it’s not like he’ll get on his knees and scrub at it, but he’d rather not let it crust. “D’you want a shower? You can go get it going. I’ll be in in a minute?”

“I’m kinda-” Louis wrinkles his nose. “Make a bigger mess if I stay, probably, so yeah. Thanks?” He leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth and gets distracted, tracing his lower lip, licking inside. When he finally pulls away, it’s with a regretful smile and a squeeze to Harry’s sticky hand. “Be quick?”

Harry nods, “As quick as I can, promise.” His legs are a bit wobbly as he pads to the kitchen, but once he’s there, he can slide a hand along the counter for support. There’s an empty cup with the tea bag still inside on the counter and a bowl with pasta remnants in the sink, and he rolls his eyes, tells himself he’ll get to those later. Secretly, he likes seeing signs of Louis being here, _living_ in this huge house even when Harry’s away.

When he gets back to Louis, stepping into the shower behind him and wrapping arms around his chest, tipping his head to lean his chin on Louis’ shoulder, the water is at Harry’s favorite warm temperature, not quite as scalding as Louis usually likes it. There’s also a new bottle of Harry’s preferred shampoo in the shower caddy that he knows wasn’t there when he left. Harry grins into Louis’ neck when he realizes it’s probably because the remainder of the bottle he left was used up. 

“Hey,” he whispers, kissing Louis’ neck below his ear. 

“Hi,” Louis grins, and tilts to kiss him for real. “Welcome home, Hazface.”

“For what, less than twelve hours?” Harry sighs. Just the thought of going back on tour so soon gives him a headache. “No rest for the wicked,” he mutters, grabbing the shampoo and squirting out a handful to scrub through Louis’ hair.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Louis hums, and tilts his head back onto Harry’s shoulder. “But- I’m glad you’re with me. I did miss you, you know.” He’s too tired to keep his voice light, knows that Harry gets it, the exhaustion and the disappointments of times they can’t have to themselves. 

Harry nods in agreement, scritching through the short hair at the back of Louis’ head. He’s over being surprised about missing Louis- and the lads, for that matter- despite spending so much time together for work. “You look tanner,” he points out, swiping sudsy fingers across Louis’ back.

“Going to the beach does that to a lad,” Louis says, reflectively, “I thought you’d know. Getting your tan on in LA, weren’t you, Harold?”

“I’m not very good at tanning,” Harry scrunches his nose and tips Louis’ head back into the spray. “You know I burn if I don’t slather sun cream on.”

"It's adorable," Louis nods, when he's not in danger of inhaling warm water. "But you do pick up the nicest golden sheen." 

Harry snorts. “Look who’s talking,” he mutters, giving Louis- chest and waist and hips and thighs and tattoos and _everything_ \- a once-over. “Okay, sun god.”

Louis grins, shrugs, and dodges when Harry goes to bat at his arm, stepping back into the spray and pretending to be busy washing his face. He's been back at the house since the day before, puttering around aimlessly- but now, with Harry here at last, it's just beginning to feel like home.

Harry gets to washing his own hair, relieved to get rid of the weird, unclean airport feeling after the long flight home. Louis, in turn, grabs Harry’s body wash and scrubs his arms with a flannel, humming under his breath. When Harry steps around him to wash off the shampoo, Louis sets down the flannel and tries to look behind his back at his bum, huffing.

“Alright, there?” Harry asks, squinting an eye with his hand over his forehead to keep the water out of his face.

Louis frowns pathetically. "Just- do you mind?" 

“Not at all,” Harry smiles, stepping up to Louis and tipping his chin for a quick kiss. He knows Louis isn’t a huge fan of the odd feeling after Harry comes inside, and that it’s harder for him to reach and clean himself up properly than to just have Harry do it, and Harry really doesn’t mind. Louis leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his back bent a little, feet apart- oddly reminiscent of being bent over the table- and Harry gets to work, carefully slipping a finger inside. Louis is still slick but he’s tighter, and he makes an uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed sound. Harry smiles fondly, kneads at his shoulder soothingly with his other hand, mindful of the lovebite he left there earlier, to help him relax. He’s quick but efficient, and when he’s finished, he wraps Louis up in a hug, chest pressed to Louis’ back.

“Thanks,” Louis says, tiredly. “You always- it’s better. I feel like I can walk without squelching now or whatever.” He grimaces at himself and squirms around in Harry’s arms, pulls them into the spray and huddles against Harry’s chest.

“And they say romance is dead,” Harry sighs, rubbing Louis’ back.

“And I’m the romantic one!” Louis reminds him. “Be grateful, you could be with Liam. He’d be out there scrubbing the house down with bleach.”

Harry pretends to consider this for a moment. “Would’ve saved me having to in the morning,” he decides, and giggles when Louis tweaks his nipple.

“No regard for afterglow, either of you,” Louis shakes his head. “Maybe you would be better off with Li.”

Harry rests his chin on Louis’ head and closes his eyes. “Happy with you, thanks.”

“Me too,” Louis whispers. “Happy with you.”

Yawning, Harry sways a little, sighs happily. “Tired, Lou. Can we sleep?”

“Here in the shower?” Louis giggles, noses at a bird below Harry’s collarbone.

“Yep,” Harry nods, even as he reaches to turn the water off. “We can use the towels as blankets.”

“I once slept in a bath,” Louis informs him seriously. “At my cousin’s? There weren’t enough beds, and I was the youngest, so they dried out the tub and put loads of blankets and a sleeping bag in and I stared at the faucet all night in terror.”

Harry cackles a ridiculous laugh, stepping out of the shower and wrapping Louis up in a towel before grabbing one for himself. “That’s... really sad, Lou, wow.”

“Well,” Louis says, and kisses his cheek, pulls away looking slightly rueful. “Maybe ‘all night’ and ‘terror’ were slight exaggerations. Anyway, there were pancakes for breakfast, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“Of course,” Harry nods, patting down his hair (because if he scrubs a towel over it, it fluffs ridiculously). Once he’s dry, he simply drops his towel on the floor and grabs his toothbrush from the cup by the sink, brushes his teeth leaning against the counter and watching Louis with sleepy eyes.

Louis dries off more slowly, taking his time lazily, and when Harry’s done with his toothbrush he takes his place at the sink, picking his own out of the holder. Harry picks up both their wet towels and hangs them up, screws the cap back on the toothpaste tube when Louis has clearly forgotten to, and then herds him into the bedroom, not even bothering with pants before getting in bed. Harry’s side is mostly neat, while the comforter is pulled down and rumpled on Louis’, and it makes Harry smile for no real reason.

“What’re you beaming about?” Louis asks, smiling like it’s contagious as he snuggles down into his side of the bed, wet hair pushed off his forehead haphazardly.

“It’s silly,” Harry mutters, pulling the covers up to his breastbone and turning to face Louis and roll his eyes.

Louis frowns. “C’mon, tell me,” he insists, shoving at Harry’s shoulder ineffectually.

“I just.” Harry huffs at himself, looks away as he says, “I like being in bed with you? Like. It really feels like home in here when you’re like, with me.” Louis is well aware of how Harry still isn’t used to this house, massive and with odd, furniture-less gaps in places, after months of technically having lived in it.

“What’s that song you like?” Louis sighs, scooting closer to Harry. Surely he won’t mind sharing his pillow. “‘Home is wherever I’m with you?’”

“Mmhm,” Harry grins, draping an arm over Louis’ side and whistling a bit.

“Good tune,” Louis nods, nuzzling Harry’s chest, and yawns. “G’night, then, love.”

Harry hums, content, and kisses Louis’ head. “Love you, Lou, night.” They have a long day tomorrow, and Harry’s pretty sure they’ll be sore all over, but for now, they’re _home_ and it’s easy to make the best of it.


End file.
